


Mercy for the Restless

by lilybeth84



Category: Justified
Genre: Black Character(s), Case Fic, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Interracial Relationship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilybeth84/pseuds/lilybeth84





	Mercy for the Restless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalisgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalisgirl/gifts).



Tim Gutterson was gripped in the throes of a night terror. He was drenched in sweat and the sheets tangled around him, suffocating and strangling until he finally woke up. He lay there alone in his small apartment listening to the crickets play their lullaby and the fan next to his bed whirring as it pushed the night air around. 

It had been three years since he had come home but the nightmares always made him feel as though it was yesterday. He could still feel the roar of the Humvee underneath him and hear the tap, tap, tap, of sub-machine guns in the distance. He would wake, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, the bitter taste of fear on his tongue…and alone.

He was under orders to see a therapist for his PTSD, and he went—once a month. The rest of the time his therapy consisted of getting drunk on whiskey and sleeping in on the weekends. Also shooting. Visiting the shooting range on a weekly basis allowed him to process the rage and fear that seemed to plague his every step. The feel of the Glock in his hand, its weight and the smooth metal against his fingers…he thought that exorcising the demons that had followed him across the world would ease the nightmares and terror…but it didn’t. Work served as a distraction, but since shooting Colton Rhoades he was finding it harder and harder to not remember and fall into the flashbacks that haunted him. 

Throwing back the covers, he went to the kitchen and put the coffee on. Measuring out six heaping scoops of dark French Roast into the filter, he poured cold tap water into the reserve and flipped the switch. It was still a small gift to wake up in the morning and have strong hot coffee made from whole beans, not the packaged instant stuff he used to make in Afghanistan. If there was anything he missed when he was abroad, it was coffee.Pouring himself a cup, he took it to the patio behind his house and sat in the old wooden rocker that had once been his mother’s. The birds slowly began to chirp as the sun rose over the eastern Kentucky hills. It was chilly and he shivered in his short sleeve t-shirt and flannel pants, but he didn’t bother to get a jacket. He liked the cold. It was so different from the heat of the desert and it didn’t suffocate him.

A jack rabbit appeared out of the brush, unaware of Tim’s presence. He sat very still as the rabbit sniffed the air and hopped over to the edge of the porch where it met his eyes. For a moment they just stared at each other. But when a crow cawed overhead, the rabbit scampered off. Tim finished his coffee and went inside to get ready for work. 

When he arrived, Rachel was at her desk and Art was in his office. Raylan was nowhere to be seen. 

“Morning, Tim,” Rachel said in her soft voice. She looked exhausted, the skin around her eyes puffy and her cheeks wan, without their usual high color. Her normally bright skin had lost some of its luster and he noticed, with some surprise, that she looked thinner. 

“Rachel,” he nodded, turning on his computer. “You alright?”

“Of course. I’m always alright” But she didn’t meet his eyes. 

“You look like shit.”

She glared at him, some color returning to her cheeks. “Thank you. When you go through a divorce, I’ll be sure to tell you how wonderful you look too.”

He put up his hands. “I never said you shouldn’t look like shit, only that you do.”

“Well I can’t look any worse than you do,” She muttered, fiddling with a stack of papers on her desk. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim could feel his defenses rising. 

“I mean the nightmares,” she said and he felt like he’d been slapped. “I’m going to get some coffee.”

Dumbfounded, he watched her as she walked away. After a moment, he staggered to his feet and followed her out. When he reached her in the lobby of the building, he grasped her hand as it swung back.

He felt a jolt at the dry warmth of her body heat and it sent goosebumps over his arms. He dropped her hand the moment she turned to face him.

“How did you know about the nightmares?” he asked quietly.

She cocked her head. “I’m your partner, Tim. I sit next to you on stakeouts. I see the way you jump at every little noise in the office and the twitch you get out in the field. You are wound tighter than anyone I have ever met.”

He felt himself being torn into, feeling that her observations were a gross invasion of privacy, but also touching in their intimacy. They were what any good partner would have noticed. 

“I’m sorry.” He looked away, but her hand on his arm brought his eyes back to hers and he was startled to see the depth of color there. In this light he could see the different shades of brown and how they stood out from her pupils. 

She didn’t smile, but she rarely did. 

They ordered coffees and took them back to their desks where Art was waiting for them, reports in hand.

“Where’s Raylan?” 

Tim and Rachel exchanged a glance. If they had a dollar for every time Art said that, they would both be filthy stinking rich.

Art sighed. “Never mind, don’t answer that.” He flipped through the papers in his hands and then handed them to Rachel. “You two remember that case about five years ago, Leland Badger?”

Rachel nodded and Tim shrugged. “I was in Afghanistan then.”

“Right, well he slit his wife’s throat in front of their daughter and then tried to do the same to her. She managed to slip out from his arms and get to a neighbor’s for help. He was deemed criminally insane and sentenced to life in Bridgewater in Massachusetts.” He stopped and sighed, his face sagging under the weight of the job that never ended. 

Tim wondered if he would look like that after so many years in the service.

“He was being transported to McCreary. This morning when they crossed the Kentucky state line, the van was hijacked and he escaped. The FBI is going through security footage from the surrounding area.”

“What do you want us to do?” Rachel asked solemnly, her eyes wide. She always got that look when a job came her way, and now that she didn’t have a husband to go home to, she had gotten more reckless. A shadow of worry crossed over Tim, but he shrugged it off.

“I need you both on the daughter,” Art replied. “She’s in Lexington under witness protection, but we can’t underestimate what he’ll try to do. She’ll stay in her home and we will have FBI backup.” He jerked his head at Rachel while looking at Tim. “Her bedside manner is better, so let her deal with the, er, more delicate situations, huh?”

“Delicate?” Tim drawled, winking at Rachel, who rolled her eyes. “I’m the most delicate person I know.”

“Uh huh,” Art replied dryly. As he walked to his office, he called over his shoulder. “The only one you have more finesse than is Raylan. And speaking of the devil, I’m going to find out where he is and desk duty his ass.”

He slammed the door shut and they could see him picking up his phone and pounding on the keys.

Rachel looked up at Tim. “He really needs to retire”

He met her eyes. “Yup.”

Tim went down to the arms room and began to sort through the firearms and protective gear they would need while Rachel went to change out of her suit into something more casual.  
He understood her need to wear a suit and toe the line. As a woman of color, her actions fell under greater scrutiny than his did as a white man. The U.S Marshals did not have the greatest track record of inclusion tactics, nor did they have a spotless history. One only had to Wikipedia U.S Marshals to find out they had been used for returning runaway slaves in the Antebellum period of U.S history. And that didn’t include the racist, sexist idiots that often came into the service still expecting it to be 1860.

He picked up a twelve gauge shotgun and checked the barrel. 

He had had his own ideas of race and identity challenged upon arriving in Afghanistan, and it hadn’t taken long for him to check his assumptions of his own country. He may have come back with a trigger happy finger and Post-traumatic stress, but that wasn’t everything. It hadn’t been all bad.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and looked up to see Rachel. She was wearing jeans and a simple black t-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a braid and her Glock was attached to her hip.  
“Ready?” She raised her eye brows in a question.

He smiled his lopsided grin at her. “I’m always ready.”

They arrived at Lilith Badger’s residence a little past five o’clock in the afternoon, sending the local PD home. Lilith was a small woman with limp brown hair and eyes that wouldn’t rest on anything for too long. Every little noise made her jump, looking wildly around for an attack. 

Tim gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t fret, Ms. Badger. We’ll be here until he’s caught.” 

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Would you like coffee or something to eat?”

“Coffee would be great,” Rachel said in her soothing voice. “Why don’t I help you?”

The women went into the kitchen and Tim inspected the house; windows, doors, garage, and basement. All was quiet, but he knew that wouldn’t stop Leland from getting what he wanted if that was his intent. 

He went back up to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. He peeked out the window, but saw nothing in the afternoon light. Taking his coffee into the living room, he sat down next to Lilith, placing his shotgun on his lap. She eyed it nervously, her hand unconsciously reaching up to the scar on her neck where her father had tried to cut her throat. 

“Do you really think he’ll try something?”

Tim exchanged glances with Rachel who raised her eyebrows as if to say, will you tell her or should I?

He looked over at the frightened woman. “I really don’t know ma’am. But that is why we are taking precautions. Do you have a book to read? It might be good to take your mind off it by doing something.”

“Oh. Yeah, I do.” She took a romance novel from the coffee table and opened it to a page somewhere in the middle. After a moment of silence she looked up at him. “Thank you.”

He nodded and looked at Rachel who was looking out the part in the curtain hanging in front of the picture window, her body twisted around exposing her neck and one delicate ear. She wore no earrings, and he was overcome with the urge to touch the place where her ear met her neck. He turned away and looked at the wall, his fingers tightening on the shotgun. He hoped she wouldn’t look at him because he was sure his face was bright red. She didn’t’ move.

As the sun set, Lilith and Rachel went into the kitchen to make something for dinner. He did another check of the house and went back to the living room. He could hear their soft voices drifting from the kitchen, occasionally picking up a word or two. They seemed to be talking about Lilith’s childhood. Silently, Tim stood and went to the doorway where he stopped and listened.

“…always was a bit strange, even though he was my dad. I came home one day to find the photo albums had been ripped off the shelved and torn to bits. He blamed the dog. My mother believed him, but I didn’t. He knew it too…when he looked at me. I suppose I knew it was only a matter of time until he hurt one of us. I just never expected…”

She trailed off into a sob and he heard Rachel move, the rustle of fabric against fabric, and Lilith’s muffled sobs. 

“I’m sure that was very hard for you,” Rachel said quietly. “You have been very brave to build a life for yourself here.”

Tim crept back to the living room and when they came out a few minutes later with food, he was in the chair Rachel had vacated and was looking out the window. Rachel handed him his plate of food and sat down across from him. They all ate silently, except for the occasional sniffle from Lilith.

After dinner, Lilith put the television for an hour or so, but then decided she was tired and was going to go to bed. He and Rachel inspected the upstairs, and instructing her not to open the door to anyone but them, they went back downstairs. Rachel went to make more coffee and Tim turned off the television. He turned off most of the lights except for the one next to the couch. When Rachel came back with two steaming cups of coffee, she sank down into the couch with a sigh.

“Nights like these are always the longest…waiting for something to happen. Sometimes it does, other times, nothing. I always leave with the worst headache and too much bottled up adrenaline.” 

Tim nodded. “I know what you mean.” He hesitated. “It was the same every time I went on a mission in Afghanistan. We often waited days for something to happen, and when it did…” He shrugged and met her eyes. He was about to tell her about the night terrors when the sound of a dog barking broke through the silence.

They were on their feet immediately. Tim drew his Glock and clicked off the safety. He crept through the kitchen to the back door and peered through a crack in the curtain. He saw nothing at first. Then the briefest outline of a shadow caught out of the corner of his eye. When he focused on it, it was already gone, but he felt a surge of adrenaline and the heightening of his senses. His eyes grew clearer and his hearing sharpened. He ran back into the front of the house and stood silently in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass from upstairs and a muffled scream. He found them on the stairs, Rachel aiming her gun at the bedroom door and Lilith sobbing in her lap. 

“It came from in there,” Rachel whispered, jerking her head at the door. He nodded and slowly opened the bedroom door. It was empty. There was broken glass all over the floor and a large rock sitting in the middle of the throw rug. Outside the window was a large oak tree, with jutting branches big enough for a man to climb. Tim cautiously looked out the window, but there was no one there. 

He secured the door and went back to the stairs where the women waited in shadows. Rachel didn’t look at him, her gun still trained on the shadowy expanse of the living room. He crouched on the stair above her, his sleeve brushing hers as he sat down. He glanced down at her and his attention was again brought to her neck where he could see her pulse throbbing under her skin. 

He swallowed hard and turned away. With steady hands, he took out his phone and called in, requesting backup. As he hung up there was the sound of splintering wood and a crash from where the back door hit the counter behind it.

Lilith let out a wail and threw herself at Tim while Rachel bolted down the stairs. 

“Stay here,” he ordered as he pried her fingers off his arm. “Don’t move and be quiet.”

She gulped and nodded, tears and snot streaming down her face.

He entered the living room, scanning the darkened room for Rachel. He saw her pressed against the wall next to the doorway to the kitchen, her gun in both hands ready to shoot. He caught her eye and silently slipped over to the other side of the doorway. Nodding at one another, Tim lifted his hand and counted down from three. On one, they turned the corner and fired. 

Tim hit Leland Badger in the shoulder, but not before the sound of his exploding shotgun echoed through his ears. Rachel flew back into the fridge where she slumped down onto the floor.  
He fired again and his mark hit the target between the eyes. He didn’t even wait for Leland’s body to hit the ground before he was at Rachel’s side, yelling into his two-way radio that a marshal was down. She was in shock, her hands clutching her stomach where blood oozed between her fingers. 

“Rachel, Rachel, let me see.” He tried to pry her bloody fingers away, but she pushed them away.

“No! No, please don’t!” She gasped in pain as she writhed and struggled under his hands.

Despite his training, Tim could feel anxiety and fear building inside his chest. “Rachel,” he ordered, looking into her bright eyes. “I’m going to look at your wound now. I need you to move your hands.”

She held his gaze a moment and then she relaxed her hands. He gently moved them and lifted her t-shirt. For a tense moment he inspected where the shot had lodged into her abdomen. He couldn’t see through all the blood so he grabbed the dish towel from the oven and pressed it against her side. She was still whimpering, but seemed calmer. He could feel her eyes on his face as he removed the towel. From what he could see, the shot had missed vital organs, but he couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t a doctor. 

He could hear Lilith sobbing in the other room, but he didn’t go to her. Shifting himself so he sat on the floor, he pulled Rachel between his legs and rested her head on his chest, pressing the towel to her side. She was cold and he feared that shock would take over before help arrived.

“Try to relax, Rachel. They’ll be here soon,” he said softly into the hair above her ear. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Is—is he dead?” she stammered out. “Did you k—kill him?”

“Right between the eyes.”

“Good.” She began to relax and the pulse in her neck slowed. Fear course through him and he shook her slightly.

“Rachel! Rachel, I need you to stay awake!”

 

He could hear the sirens in the distance. Suddenly, Lilith appeared in the doorway, her face puffy, eyes red.

“Is she going to die?” she whispered fearfully.

“No,” Tim answered firmly. “She’s going to be fine.” He looked back down at Rachel who was once again staring at him, her large brown eyes wide, pupils so large, her irises were almost gone.

Here it struck him that in this light, lips parted, eyes bright with pain, she had never looked more beautiful. All the air in his lungs wooshed out and he couldn’t tear his eyes from hers.  
“You’re going to be fine,” he whispered. “I won’t let you die.” He took her hand in his free one and held it, resting it over her heart. “You won’t die.”

And then the paramedics were there and she was wrenched from his arms, an oxygen mask placed over her mouth. Art was speaking to him, but he wasn’t listening. He watched them take her away in the ambulance, sirens screaming, lights flashing blue and red in the dark neighborhood.

“Tim!”

He looked over, feeling dumb, head full of wool. Art peered at him through narrow eyes. “Are you alright? I need you to tell me what happened.”

Tim ignored him. “Is she going to be okay?”

Art sighed long and hard, but Tim didn’t hear him.

She was asleep when he arrived at her hospital room, the heart monitor beeping softly in the backdrop of the silent room. Her face was gray and there was a supplemental oxygen tube attached to her nose. His lungs tightened painfully to see her so vulnerable when she was normally so very capable and strong. He sat down on the chair next to her bed and watched her chest rise and fall as she breathed in and out. He hadn’t slept the night before, and eventually he dozed off, slumped back on the chair. 

He awoke later to find her staring at him, propped up slightly, the tube gone from her nose. 

“Rachel.” He awkwardly sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What time is it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “After seven. You’ve been asleep for hours.”

“Sorry,” he replied feeling awkward. “I didn’t sleep last night.”

“Why not?” 

He was so startled at her directness, the truth popped out before he had time to evade it. “I was worried about you.”

Something flickered in her eyes. “I’m fine, Tim. No major damage. I’ll be out tomorrow.” Her voice was gentle and warm. “No nightmares?”

He realized she was right. He had slept for a full three hours without a single dream, even sitting upright in a chair. “No.”

“Good.” She seemed satisfied with his answer. 

“Can I get you anything?”

“No. Just…thank you for being here,” she said quietly, closing her eyes. 

He felt his face flush and stammered out an excuse that he had to use the restroom before bolting out of the room. In the bathroom he splashed cold water on his hot face and stared at himself in the mirror. 

What are you even doing?” he muttered to his reflection. Sighing, he dried his hands and went out. He had almost reached her door when he saw a man leave. He was tall, with short black hair and he was wearing a suit. It had to be her ex-husband. A flash of jealousy burst through him, a monster that reared his head and made him want to crawl into a hole and hide until it was gone. Forcing the feeling down, he took a deep breath and went in. 

She looked up and smiled at him, a rare smile that had his insides churning.

“Was that your husband?’ he asked stiffly, and the smile on her face faltered. 

“Yes. He just came by to see how I was.” She looked at him pointedly. “And he’s my ex-husband.”

Tim didn’t say anything, but sat down again and made a big show of making himself comfortable. 

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “What are you doing? Visitor hours are over.”

“Staying the night,” he said, not looking at her. “You think I can get a pillow?”

“You don’t have to stay.” 

“You think it’s for you?” he scoffed, pulling out his phone. “I sleep well here. Maybe they might let me rent a room.”

“Right.” She gave him a smile and settled back into her pillow. Silently she reached over and took his hand in hers, her touch sending shivers through his body. But he did sleep, and there were no nightmares. It wasn’t until later that he realized that it wasn’t the chair or the hospital that allowed him to sleep. It was her presence. 

It was then he knew he was a goner: he had a massive crush on her, worthy of any adolescent, that wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. 

She got out of the hospital the next day and he drove her home. She invited him in for coffee and after a moment’s hesitation, he accepted. Part of him didn’t want to be anywhere near her and the other part of him wanted nothing more.

She made coffee for him and tea for herself, and they sat at the kitchen counter sipping silently. There was a heaviness in the air and to distract himself, he looked around her apartment. It was simple and clean, but there were paintings on the wall and books on the shelves that made it uniquely hers. 

“Tim?” Her voice was low.

“Yeah?” He looked at her over the rim of his cup.

“Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer right away, his heart thumping in his chest. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“That’s not it,” she murmured looking down at her cup.

He looked at her for a long moment. Then getting to his feet, he gently took her hand and pulled her up against him. She let out a startled noise, but didn’t pull away. He leaned in and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She was warm and tasted of peppermint.

He hadn’t kissed a woman out of affection in over five years, not since his girlfriend before Afghanistan. As he held her soft body against his, breathing in her scent, he realized how much he had missed it.

She pulled away and looked at him, her fingers curling in his hair. “Oh my,” she breathed out.

“Oh my?” He laughed. “I think I can do better than ‘oh my.’”

Her lips parted under his and he kissed her over and over again until they were breathless on the couch. Her head rested on his chest as he tugged on her earlobe and stroked the skin he had so much wanted to touch before. 

“What do you have for me now, Rachel Brooks?” He drawled. “Is it better than ‘oh my?’”

“I got nothing, Mr.Gutterson.” She lifted her head and placed her chin in her hands. “Absolutely nothing.” Then she smiled.

He felt a wave of affection wash over him and stroked his thumb down her cheek. “You should smile more often. You look so damn beautiful when you do.” 

She blushed. “Are you trying to sweet talk me into the bedroom?” 

“Why? Is it working?”

“You’re getting there.” 

She laid her head back down on his chest and he went back to stroking her ear, her hair, her cheek. He wanted to touch every part of her and then do it again.

“Will you stay the night?” she asked suddenly, looking at him again.

He looked down in surprise. “Is that all it took?” 

“You must have magic fingers,” she said cheekily, then grew serious. “I mean that you seem to sleep better when you have someone with you.”

He was silent a moment. “It’s not ‘someone,’ Rachel, it’s you. I sleep better when I’m with you.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “But—”

He cut her off with a long, hard kiss that left her with nothing to say at all. But by then she didn’t need to.


End file.
